


We Should Catch Up (But Outside of Jail)

by jettiebettie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Stiles&Heather BroTP, also includes a soon to be jossed portrayal of Heather, but realistically I'll take any reason in order to put Derek in a uniform, for the greater good, impersonating an officer of the law
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:51:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jettiebettie/pseuds/jettiebettie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Heather is back, she and Stiles have some catching up to do. Stiles just wishes that didn't include her asking about Derek. Or even mentioning Derek. He would especially appreciate it if she would stop calling him Stiles' boyfriend. That would be super.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Should Catch Up (But Outside of Jail)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Solitario24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitario24/gifts).



> For Lily, my Great Enabler.  
> I don't want to go into season 3 not liking Heather. I would like Stiles to have more friends.

There was lot of catching up to do when Heather came back to Beacon Hills. There were the standard questions of, “How did you like the new town? Were the people at the other schools nice? How did you ever survive math classes without me?” There were sets of his own questions to answer, and by answer he means lie about. “Me? Nothing much. Scott? That's my bro. Totally nothing supernatural about him. Or those three kids with all the leather. Or Lydia. Remember Lydia? I used to make her crayon drawing of the two of us getting married. Yeah, that Lydia.” He should have been taking her around town, showing her what was new, what was the same, and taken her out to ice cream like his mom would do with them on the weekends.

 Instead they're camped out on the couch watching reruns of _M*A*S*H_ , pigging out on Doritos and off-brand soda. Just like old times.

 “I can't believe I ever confused Trapper and BJ,” Heather says, opening another can.

 “Who was your favorite colonel? Henry or Potter?” Stiles asks. Heather gives a full body wiggle and a childish whine.

 “Don't make me choose!”

 The Sheriff walks in then and leans against the door frame to the living room.

 “I'm heading back to the station. You two couch potatoes gonna be here all day?” he asks. Stiles and Heather both lift up their cans in acknowledgment, eyes still on the TV.

 “Yes, sir,” they say together. The Sheriff rolls his eyes and mutters something about lazy teenagers before leaving. Stiles and Heather end up watching three more episodes before they declare a break. Heather stands up to stretch her legs.

 “So, hey,” she starts. Stiles looks up from where he was opening a new bag of chips. “Not to be a bro-stealer, but is Scott seeing anyone?”

 “Uhhh.” Stiles isn't quite sure how to answer the question. “Yes and no?” he tries. Heather raises her eyebrows, expecting more. “His princess is in another castle?”

 “Oh, that sucks.”

 “Yeah. It's complicated,” he admits. She nods and shrugs.

 “And that Isaac guy he was with? He was cute.”

 “You're gonna give me a complex.”

 “You're very pretty too, Stiles.” She pets his hair and then decides to vigorously run her hands through it, ruining all the hard work he did trying to give it that sexy, messy look. Now he's pretty sure he looks like a homeless man. “See? Beautimous.”

 “I hate you. And I don't know if Isaac is seeing anyone. And before you ask, Boyd and Erica have a thing.”

 “Is Boyd the big guy that doesn't talk much?”

 “That'd be him.”

 “Well, damn. I'm running out of options with which to better integrate myself into the group,” Heather says, sitting back down.

 “What is this, a wild life docu-” Stiles stops himself because the irony is too much.

 “What about the other guy?” she asks, navigating the Netflix menu. Stiles has to pause and think.

 “Danny?” he asks.

 “No, not Danny. The guy with the eyebrows and who apparently doesn't like shaving. The guy those three left with.”

 “Derek?” Stiles nearly drops his bag of chips.

 “Yeah. How old is he?”

“No,” he says, tossing his chips onto the coffee table. 

“Because I totally asked a yes or no question.”

“The answer is still no. You know who is available? Greenberg.”

“The douche who tried to chug the entire punch bowl at my party?”

“Yep. Total Romeo.” 

“Don't make me drop-kick you.”

Ah, the threat of violence. It was like she'd never left. 

-

He's thrilled Heather's back- he is!- but really, this is only making his life more difficult. It's been so long since she’s been here, though, that she doesn't quite remember anyone _but_ Stiles, and she seems reluctant to make new friends that aren't already friends of Stiles. He wants to ask if it has something to do with the other schools she attended; she used to be so social. He doesn't though. That might just open the door to _mutual questioning_ and the longer he can put that off the better. But now that she's around all the time, Alpha pack business is getting harder and harder to hide. 

Like right now.

 _Get her to leave._  

Stiles stares at the screen of his cell phone and does his best not to pull a bitch face at it. Derek sure has a way with words in that he knows exactly how to piss Stiles off with less than five syllables. But he understands that this probably means that Derek's found something. He glances over to Heather who is currently flipping through her algebra book (turns out she'd survived math just fine without him), looking for all the world like she would rather be doing anything _but_ homework. Stiles slides his phone back into his pocket and taps out a nervous beat on his own textbook. 

“Hey, you know, we can probably do the rest of this before class tomorrow. It's getting kind of late,” he tries. Heather glances questioningly at the clock that reads a little after 8:30.  She flips her book closed anyway and readjusts her position on the couch.

“What'd you have in mind, Stilinski? _Hogan's Heroes_ or _Happy Days_?” 

“What is it with you and the '70s?”

“We can skip to the '80s if you want. I make references to _The A-Team_ but I haven't actually seen a single episode.” 

“Um, actually...” Stiles starts. “I was thinking maybe you should head home.”

Heather's easy smile falters and she looks at her hands for a second. 

“Oh, right. Yeah. No, you're right.” She awkwardly reaches for her bag and starts to shove her textbook in. “Sorry. You're probably getting tired of me just-” She makes a vague gesture with her hand. Stiles jumps up, hands out.

“No! That's not... It's just-” His text alert goes off again and he groans as he pulls it out and reads it. 

 _Hurry up_.

Stiles lets himself give his phone half a bitch face. When he looks back up, Heather is already half way to the door. He wants to stop her and tell her it's not what she thinks, but she's leaving, and what Derek's found is probably really important. 

“Uh, I'll see you at school!” he calls out just before the door closes.

Crap. 

-

Turns out Derek just wanted to know what Stiles knew and, at the moment, Stiles knows bupkis. Frustration and sarcasm were the keywords of last night's conversation which means he went to bed pissed (his mother always said it was never good to go to bed angry) which in turn means he wakes up irritated and, in remembering how Heather had left, he's now experiencing no tiny amount of dread. But he refuses to let this get between them and is determined to apologize to her at school. Walking down the hall, he expects her to be angry with him or maybe ignore him. He's not expecting her to be leaning against his locker. 

He's not expecting the smirk.

He stops in front of her and gives her a wary look. 

“Morning,” he says with caution.

“Good morning, Stiles,” she practically sings, moving over so he can get to his locker. Stiles keeps an eye on her as he spins in his combination. “Sooo,” she says, raising an eyebrow. Stiles is even more confused. 

“So...? I'm sorry about last night?” he tries. Heather rolls her eyes.

“Oh my god, you loser.” 

“Hey!”

“Don't be sorry, just give me details,” she says.  She’s smiling now, excited about something. 

“Details about what?”

Now she looks like she wants to slap him upside the head. She does. 

“Ow!”

“Who is he and why haven't you introduced me?” She's pouting now. 

“Heather,” Stiles says, “I have no freaking idea what you're talking about.” He really, really doesn't. She gives him a disbelieving look before glancing around and lowering her voice.

“Who was the guy that climbed into your window as I was leaving? And if you say, _What guy_? I swear to god I will gut-check you,” she threatens when Stiles opens his mouth. He closes it so fast his teeth click together. “I might not have gotten a good look at him, but he was totally there. I can't believe you have a boyfriend and you didn't tell me!” 

Stiles gapes for a moment before doing a quick spin-check to make sure no one heard that. He closes his locker and pulls Heather by the arm to a hallway with less foot traffic.

“Oh my god, no. No no no. Heather, he's not my boyfriend,” he asserts almost frantically. Heather's eyebrows shoot up. 

“Booty call?” she asks. The laugh that forces its way out of Stiles mouth is nothing short of hysterical in nature.

“ _Are you kidding me_?” 

“You're not really helping here. I have to guess.”

“Your guessing sucks!” Stiles says, and he has to walk away now. He starts moving toward homeroom and tries to ignore the sound of Heather catching up. 

“Okay, fine! Let's start with his name.”

“Let's not.” 

“If you don't give me anything before lunch, I'm telling Scott about that time you put on my Sunday dress and cried when your mom tried to take it off.”

“Oh my god, shut up!” 

“And that she only got it off after she promised to buy you one for your birthday!”

“Miguel!” Stiles all but shouts. A few people cast him irritated looks. Stiles face heats up and he lowers his voice. “His name is Miguel. Okay? Okay.” He turns to walk into the classroom and notices Danny smirking at him. 

Fuck.

He takes a deep breath and practically throws himself into his desk. He lets his head fall onto his arms and tries not to scream out in frustration. Scott leans over and pokes him with his pen. 

“Dude, who's Miguel?” he asks.

Stiles refuses to lift his head, but a quiet giggle fit shakes his body. That was the saying, yeah? Sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying. Scott leans back into his chair and chooses wisely not to press the issue. 

-

“I totally don't believe you, by the way.” 

Stiles pauses halfway from biting into his hamburger. Heather is staring him down as she takes a drink from her water bottle. He sighs and sets his burger down onto his tray. He makes a gesture for her to continue.

“His name is not Miguel.” 

Stiles stares at his tray and laments his sudden loss of appetite.

“See, I was talking to Danny in Spanish,” 

He already hates where this is going.

“And he says he's met this Miguel. Funny, though, he said that Miguel was a) extremely attractive, good for you-” she winks at him and he gives her the finger, “-but that b) he's apparently your cousin.” 

“About that-” Stiles starts, but he's cut off when Heather holds up her hand.

“I was confused though, because last I remembered, you didn't have any cousins.” 

“He's several times removed,” Stiles says weakly. Heather ignores him.

“He's so not your cousin. Danny doesn't really think so either, by the by.” 

“... His name could still be Miguel.”

Heather gives him a look. 

“Is it? Is Miguel the name you cry out passionately when the two of you-”

Stiles shoots out of his chair, grabs his tray, and heads to the trash cans. 

He avoids Heather for the rest of the day and he most certainly does not apologize.

- 

Heather must have gotten the hint, because she seems to have dropped the subject completely overnight. He's suspicious at first when he gets to school the next day, but she never once asks him about Derek or anything boyfriend related and dear god, he just thought of Derek and the word boyfriend together in the same sentence voluntarily.

He shakes his head and tries to refocus on his history textbook. It's not like Derek isn't attractive. Anyone with eyes can see that. Hell, blind people probably know it. He's pretty sure all that stubble would feel _amazing_ under your hands and if you're close enough that you can touch him, you're probably close enough to smell him, and Stiles knows from experience just how good Derek smells- 

The sound of his head hitting the solid wood of the table echoes through the library and several others students give him dirty looks, but they can go screw themselves, because he's having a _crisis_ here. The bells rings and Stiles is packing his bookbag and practically running out of the library before the teacher on duty can say two words to him. He doesn't bother to check and see if Scott's bike is still in the rack. He just heads straight to his Jeep, opens the driver side door and throws in his bag. A hand on his shoulder keeps him from pulling himself inside. He allows himself a brief moment of panic until he realizes it's Derek. Then he just feels guilty and does everything in his power not to look him directly in his stupid handsome face.

“You couldn't have waited until I got home to accost me?” he says. 

“Don't make plans this weekend,” Derek says, frowning. Stiles stares at him for a good five seconds; five seconds in which a number of possible interpretations of that command came to mind, most of them sexual, all of them inappropriate. Stiles slowly closes his door and forces himself back into rational thinking.

“Dude, I don't have anything. I have less than that. You've given me a symbol and vague threats and _nothing else_. How is cutting into my oh-so active social life gonna help?” He doesn't have plans. Not the kind made with other people in which he actually goes out and does things. Scott and Allison are continuing their Shakespearean love affair and fooling no one, he doesn't really talk to Derek's betas, and he is never invited to anything. Stigma of being the sheriff's kid, among other things, he's sure. The only person he planned on seeing was- “Oh. Heather. You don't want Heather to be over.” Derek's eyebrows do an impressive motion as if to say _you think?_ and Stiles kind of wants to punch him. He clings to that irritation. 

“I need your help with something,” Derek says.

“Wow, you said that without a hint of agony. I think this is a big step in our relationship. Should we get frenemy bracelets? I'm getting us frenemy bracelets,” Stiles says, his exasperation evident. Derek purses his lips together and sighs through his nose in his own measure of irritation. Stiles suddenly feels bad, because it's not like Derek's thrown him into anything or tried to bully him as of late. In fact, this is probably as civil as Derek's ever been with him. He needs Stiles' help and he's trying not to be an asshole about it. Stiles might as well positively reward good behavior. “Okay, fine. What is it that you need me to look up?”

“It's nothing like that. I need you to get something from the police station for me,” Derek says. Stiles shifts, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Uh, dude, I know I've done some pretty illegal things in order to fight the good fight, but I'm not sure I can talk my way out of stealing from Evidence,” Stiles explains slowly. Derek shakes his head, though not impatiently. 

“I'm not asking you to steal evidence. I-” Derek cuts himself off and tilts his head, as if hearing something. He glances back over to the school building. Students have been filing out this entire time, so Stiles doesn't really know what his problem is until he sees Heather trying (and failing) to look as if she's not scoping them out from her position on the steps. Derek steps back. “We'll finish this later.” And then he's walking back to his Camaro and driving off. Stiles watches him until he's left the school parking lot and turns back to see Heather walking toward him.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asks, cautiously. 

“I knew his name wasn't Miguel!” Heather pokes him in the chest. “Derek is the name you cry out passionately-”

“Oh my god!” Stiles throws a hand over her mouth only to pull it back in disgust when she licks it. He takes the time she uses making a face and giving a raspberry to the ground to beat her to the punch. “How can you be so sure it was him anyway?” he asks. He immediately regrets it when Heather throws him a smirk. 

“I may not have seen his face the other night, but I most certainly saw his ass. Those jeans should be illegal.”

Stiles throws up his hands and shakes his head, the universal sign for _I am so done_ , wrenches the Jeep's door open, and practically flings himself into the seat. He's putting the Jeep into gear when the passenger side door opens and Heather lets herself in. She tosses both of their bags into the back and smiles pleasantly at him. 

“No.”

“I didn't say anything.” 

“You've said plenty. Mostly about a boyfriend I don't have and the-” Stiles hesitates, “ _ass_ of someone who barely tolerates me at best. I would rather not spend the ride home trying to convince you that I'm not crying out anyone's name _passionately_. Odds are actually good that I'm going to die alone at this rate. But by all means, Heather, please, ask me more about it!” Stiles doesn't realize he voice has been steadily rising until he's just shy of shouting. He sounds unreasonably angry even to his own ears. Heather's smile becomes a surprised and upset frown. She looks away from him to stare at her shoes.

“Sorry,” she says quietly and Stiles immediately feels like scum of the earth. He takes a slow, deep breath. 

“No, I'm sorry.” Stiles grips the steering wheel tightly before dropping his hands altogether. “I'm just a little,” he flails his hands a bit, “touchy. About this. All of this. Lydia and Jackson are practically soulmates, and watching someone I've been carrying a torch for for eight years be happy with a jerk like Jackson just... It just...” Stiles mimes strangling someone. Heather gives him a sad smile. “And then you thinking I have a snowball's chance in hell with someone like Derek?” Stiles rests his head against the steering wheel. “I'm just tired of setting myself up for soul-crushing disappointment, ya know?” Heather smiles again and reaches out to rub his back.

“Someday love will find you,” she says. Stiles locks eyes with her and senses a trap. 

“Don't.”

“Break those chains that bind you.”

“I'm never baring my soul to you ever again.”

“One night will remind you~ how we touched and weeeeent our separate waaaaays!” Heather sings. 

“I am going into your dad's study and burning every _Journey_ record he's collected ever.”

- 

Turns out this weekend isn't going to be a problem, because Heather and her parents are going out of town Friday night to showcase some of their wine at a prestigious wine tasting Saturday in Napa. She doesn't want to go, but buyers apparently like the image of a “family” business, so she has to go and dress nicely and put on a big five-star smile. Stiles doesn't envy her. At any rate, Derek never did call him or let himself in through Stiles window that night. No, all he sent was a text.

 _Meet me a block from the station Friday night after your dad goes home_. 

And Stiles doesn't even want to know how Derek got a hold of the Sheriff's schedule. Whatever. Friday works well enough. He can say he's staying the night at Scott's for a Halo marathon.

“I'll come too,” Scott says when Stiles calls him to be his alibi. 

“I'm not anticipating anything, like, _dangerous_ happening, dude,” Stiles says.

“Derek is dangerous,” Scott argues, and it's actually a pretty valid statement. 

“Well, yeah, but I don't think he's going to try to kill me in my father's place of work. That's just in poor taste.”

“Are the others gonna be with him?” Scott asks and Stiles takes a moment to be proud. Scott's learned a lot in the past year, has really taken to thinking strategically. But with the way Derek's been acting, Stiles seriously doubts Erica, Issac, and Boyd are in on their super secret mission. 

“No, don't think so.”

“You don't _think_ so? Stiles, I'm not sure this is a good idea.” 

“I'll have my phone on me. I'll call you if anything happens that's not supposed to happen.”

“Do you even know what that will be? Sounds like Derek hasn't really filled you in on anything.” 

“Dude,” Stiles says, readjusting his phone, “I've got a taser. I should be able to hold my own. At least long enough to call you.” Stiles hears a huff of breath through the speaker as Scott sighs.

“Fine. But I mean it, Stiles. Call me if something happens.” 

“10-4, good buddy.”

- 

It just so happens that Heather's new house is about two blocks away from the station. He figures he'll park in their driveway in order to keep from looking like a random creeper on the curb; he knows Derek will be able to find him easily enough. Heather and her parents would have left hours ago and it's about to hit midnight so he's understandably startled when she suddenly comes up out of nowhere and knocks on the driver side window. He drops his phone that he's been fiddling with for the past five minutes and clutches his chest. He glares at her from behind the glass. She's in her pajamas, lounge pants and an oversized shirt and she looks cold. He unlocks his doors and she walks around to the other side and hops in. Tiredly, she gives him a look.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” 

“Me? What are you doing here? What happened to Napa?”

“I really, really didn't want to go. I may have recycled your threat to burn my dad's records,” she says and it ends in a yawn. “So.” 

“So,” Stiles repeats and shifts awkwardly.

“Why are you sitting out here, Stiles?” she asks, almost as if she's dreading the answer. 

“Oh, you know. It's a nice night. This part of town has the least light pollution,” he bullshits as he points up at the stars through the windshield. Heather looks wholly unimpressed.

“Look, I know you've been feeling... _down_ lately about this “significant others” business. But, Stiles, you and I used to eat dirt together. I've seen you stick rollie pollies up your nose. You wore my dresses. You're like my brother, and I can't date someone who looks better in Easter pastels than I do.” She says all of this with an air of sympathy and sincerity, but Stiles is too busy gaping to care. 

“Heather, I'm not out here _pining_!” he exclaims. Heather quirks an eyebrow. “And can you please stop talking about your stupid dresses? It was a phase!”

“Sure it was.” 

“Oh my god. I don't want to go out with you, Heather!” Stiles insists and Heather then as the audacity to look mildly offended. “I'm not- I'm here... to meet someone,” he forces out.

“In my driveway?” 

“You weren't supposed to be home!”

Heather looks like she's about to call him on it when there's a harsh rap of knuckles on Stiles' window. Derek is glaring at him full force, the nicer, less frowny one replaced with 100% Sourwolf, and Stiles worries that his head is about to meet his steering wheel again. Heather clicks her tongue from over in the passenger seat. 

“I get it now,” she says.

“You really, really don't,” Stiles says as he undoes his seatbelt and opens the door. Once he's out, Derek forces the door closed again and Stiles jumps despite himself. “What the hell, man!” 

“I asked you not to make plans,” Derek says sharply. “I asked you for help. Instead you're here with your little _girlfriend_.” Girlfriend. Derek says the word like it's some disgusting thing on his tongue. Stiles would be confused if he wasn't so pissed.

“Hey, back up, alright? She's not my girlfriend! I didn't make any plans. She wasn't supposed to be here!” 

“He's telling the truth,” Heather says, stepping out of the passenger side of the Jeep. “I'm supposed to be in Napa.” Derek looks like he could care less, his expression still stormy. Heather leans on the hood of the Jeep. “I didn't mean to intercept your secret, moonlit rendezvous.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles mutters into his hands. 

“So, what do two guys who aren't cousins or peers or-” Stiles shoot her a pleading look, “- _friends_ do in the middle of the night? Hopefully nothing illegal,” she teases. Apparently Derek's just as bad as hiding his guilt as Stiles because Heather looks between them a couple of times before looking very concerned. “Oh, come on. Seriously? Stiles, your dad's been a cop your whole life!”

“I don't even know why I'm here!” Stiles says desperately. Derek looks uncomfortable and shifts his weight. Stiles looks at him expectantly, but Derek juts his chin toward Heather and glares back at him. Stiles sighs and turns to Heather. 

“Um. So. Goodnight? Please pretend you didn't see or hear any of this?” he tries. Heather puts her hands on her hips, incredulous.

“You are not gonna stand in my own driveway and send me to bed, Genim Stilinski!” 

“Oh my god!” Stiles does a full spin, checking the street and neighboring houses. “Heather, shut up! Not even Scott knows that!” Derek is staring at the ground perplexed, mouthing what seems to be his first name. Stiles pushes him on the shoulder. “You! Forget you heard it!”

“What origin is that?” Derek asks as he looks back up, as if they hadn't been having an argument three minutes prior. 

“It's from Northern None-of-your-damn-business,” Stiles snaps. He turns back to the Jeep. “No, you know what? Screw this. I'm going home or, hey! How 'bout I actually do what my dad thinks I'm doing and head over to Scott's? I like that plan.” He opens the Jeep door, but Derek shuts it again. He tries one more time but the man has it firmly held shut. “What?! What do you want?”

“I need a uniform,” Derek says. Stiles stares at him. 

“A patrolman's uniform?” he asks. Heather snorts off to his side.

“No, Stiles, a janitor's uniform. I'm gonna to get changed. If either of you leave without me, I will hurt you.” With that, she turns back to the house and runs up the steps and inside. Stiles waits until the screen door slams shut before he turns back to Derek. 

“Why do you need a uniform?”

“I managed to get some information about the Alpha pack.” 

“Really?” Stiles is suddenly a thousand times more interested.

“It seems they made a bit of mess further upstate. I called local police, told them I was a journalist, and asked if I could get any more details. They weren't exactly forthcoming.” Derek scowls and rolls his eyes, as if remembering the exchange. 

“To be fair, you may just not have a positive telephone voice,” Stiles says, though really, Derek has a nice voice. If he used it less for threatening and more for- “Okay! So, you're wanting to go all double agent and sneak past them in plain sight, yeah?” Derek nods. “Right, so, what's your cover?” The confused look the werewolf gives him isn't faith inspiring.

“I'd... be a cop?” Derek ventures. Stiles tips his head back and groans. 

“You'd be a cop outside of his jurisdiction. You'd be a cop without a background or authorization. You know the saying _the clothes make the man_? Not in this case, buddy. You'll need more than a stolen badge. You'd need a justifiable reason for being there. They're not just gonna hand you the stuff you want even if you're wearing a uniform,” Stiles explains. Derek lets his shoulders drop with a frustrated sigh.

“Alright, I get it. It's a stupid plan. How else to you suggest I get it?” There's a desperation to his outburst that Stiles tries to ignore. 

“It's not stupid. It's just not well thought out. It's got merit, we just need to work out the details,” Stiles reassures. Derek gives him a look that's almost hopeful.

“We?” he asks. 

“Well, yeah,” Stiles shrugs. “You're kind of flying blind here, dude. It's making me nervous. I'll help you get the uniform and I'll help you pass as an actual officer. The more we know the better, right?” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and rocks back on his feet a bit. Derek doesn't look angry anymore. He has the appearance of a man who's had a weight suddenly lifted from his shoulders. Stiles thinks it’s a good look for him. He's about to throw caution to the wind and tell him so when Heather bursts out of her front door now clad in jeans and a jacket.

“Alright! Let's go steal police property!” she says cheerily. Derek's eyebrows shoot up and Stiles runs a hand over his face. 

“I'm just racking up the misdemeanors at this point.”

- 

It's not exactly easy to sneak up on a police station, even in the middle of the night. There's always someone on duty and the immediate area of the building tends to be well lit. There are camera at all exits, but this isn't Mission Impossible. Stiles isn't worried about cameras. The ones by the fire exit are never monitored and it's not like footage is reviewed without reason. As long as they're not caught and as long as the uniform isn't missed for a couple of days, this should be no problem. See, the fire exit is supposed to be attached to an alarm, but it hasn't worked properly since his dad was a deputy. It's not common knowledge, but Stiles has spent more time here than a (mostly) law abiding citizen should. Stiles and Heather hang back a bit as Derek goes to take care of the lock.

“You don't have to be here, you know. You don't even know why we're doing this,” Stiles whispers to her. 

“We're here to get a uniform,” she whispers back.

“You know what I mean.” 

“I just figured it was so you and Hot Stuff over there could play the naughty version of cops and robbers.”

Stiles doesn't even have the luxury to pray that Derek didn't hear that, because the man suddenly fumbles with the lock he's broken off. Stiles looks heavenward and tries not to scream.

“That's why you're helping?” 

“I just want you to be happy. If a little roleplay with “Miguel” over there is what it's gonna take, I'm more than willing to assist.” It would have been a heartwarming sentiment if Stiles wasn't currently dying of embarrassment. Chancing a glance to Derek, he's sees the man standing near the door, awkwardly holding the lock and looking for all the world like he has no idea what to do with himself.

“Heather,” Stiles says, bringing his voice above a whisper, letting Derek know that he was actually supposed to be hearing this part. “Go to the front and tell Doug, he'll be the redheaded guy, that you're home alone for the weekend and would like to request that the station have a patrol car make a pass on your street every other hour after sunset. It won't take long to give him the information he needs, so try to chat him up a bit. He likes cats.” Heather gives him a nod before jogging around the building to the front doors. He walks over to Derek who actually avoids his eyes at first. He may even be a little pink in the ears. Stiles tries not to die from a humiliation induced heart attack. 

“Let's go. We don't exactly have a lot of time,” he says, pointing to the door.

“Is there anyone else we need to worry about?” 

“Not really? The break room is further that away and the locker rooms tend to empty this time of night until the patrol cars switch shifts. We have a new girl on dispatch for nights. She's too scared to leave her seat for more than five seconds,” Stiles explains. Derek nods and pulls the door open as quietly as possible, pausing briefly to use his super hearing to scope out where people are exactly in the building. He motions for Stiles to follow him.

He lets Stiles take lead and Stiles does his best not to start humming Pink Panther. They make it to the locker rooms easy enough and from here even Stiles can hear Heather up at the front talking to Doug. Stiles scans the lockers until he find the one he's looking for. Officer Barns' wife just had a baby and he's on leave for the next three days and he's... well, he's not as fit as Derek, but they're close enough in build that it should be a decent fit. He taps the locker and Derek walks over. Looking back toward the door once more, Derek puts his ear closer to the lock and begins twisting the dial. The lock pops open just a few seconds later and Stiles has to admit he's impressed. 

“Hey,” he whispers, “if this whole broody alpha thing you got going doesn't work, you could probably do well as a cat burglar. How's that for irony?” Derek doesn't find him as funny as he finds himself, apparently. He just reaches in and begins to collect the pieces of the uniform. The holster and gun aren't present, obviously, but that's something they'll deal with later. For now, Stiles grabs the belt and shoes as Derek takes the pants, undershirt, and uniform top. Stiles closes the locker and replaces the lock and then they're out the back.

- 

First step is to make sure the damn thing actually does fit. They head back to Heather's house and she shows him the guest bedroom where he can change. Stiles and Heather are sitting on the couch waiting when she turns herself against the arm and give Stiles a look.

“What?” 

“I'm not stupid, Stiles,” she says.

“I know that!” he asserts. 

“Do you? Because there's a lot we haven't talked about. We used to do that a lot, you know? Talk. You used to tell me everything,” she says sadly. Stiles doesn't like where this is going, but he doesn't have the heart to stop her. “Your friends? They're nice and all, but they're all awfully tight knit. Almost defensively so. Erica gives me the stink eye every time I ask about what they do after school. And this Derek guy?” she says, jerking her head toward the hall. “He's Derek _Hale_ , right? I thought he and his sister moved. Are you ever gonna tell me how the two of you got to be... whatever you are?” She seems equal parts curious and frustrated.

Stiles is quiet for a while as he stares down at the coffee table. He wants to tell her. Hell, he wants to tell his dad. He's getting really tired of lying to people he cares about. He's getting really tired of the looks of suspicion and hurt. He wants them to understand that he lies to protect them. He wants- 

But it's not his secret to tell.

“Why don't you ever talk about your old school? Or friends you made? Why did you and your parents move back here?” he asks back, quietly. Heather's looks away and she plays with the zipper of her jacket. She looks the saddest he's ever seen her. After a moment of silence, she smiles and nods. 

“Touché, Genim,” she says.

“Shhh! Seriously! Keep that shit locked up tighter than Fort Knox! Stop laughing, Heather, I'm serious!” She doesn't stop laughing and he's about to cover her face with a pillow when the bedroom door opens and a stripper cop walks out. 

Heather and Stiles freeze and stare while Derek adjusts the belt and stands stiffly. His ears are pink again. The sleeves of the shirt stretch over his biceps almost sinfully and the inseams of the pants are doing amazing things below the belt. Stiles is sure if Derek does a fashion turn to show off the rest, his ass would probably murder him and Heather both. Speaking of, Heather currently has his arm in a death grip and it feels like she's about five seconds away from flinging herself at Derek's feet.

He understands the impulse. 

Derek clears his throat and makes a gesture to himself.

“Does it look alright?” 

Stiles slaps a hand over Heather's mouth.

“Lookin' like a man of the law there, Officer Hale,” Stiles says, his voice a bit too high. He really shouldn't have said that. He's done pretty well so far to keep from imagining (in vivid detail) the games Heather brought up before, but now he's gone and played into it. Fuck fuck fuck- “Heather here is gonna walk me to my Jeep, I'm gonna go home, and we'll talk about the other stuff tomorrow. Bye, Derek!” He's been physically dragging his friend to the front door as she tries to reach for Derek. His hands slips from over her mouth as he turns the door handle.

“Oh my god-”

“I know.”

“He's just-”

“I know.”

“Look at him!”

“ _I know_.”

“Stiles, I'm sorry, but I'm going to marry him. I'll share, though, I promise.”

Stiles is just happy he's gotten her outside, though he's pretty sure Derek still heard that. Goddamnit. But he can't help it. When he opens the door to his Jeep, he pauses long enough to mutter,

“You should see him in handcuffs.”

“What? _What_?!”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, everyone. We don't get to find out how the super secret alpha mission goes. 
> 
> All I really, truly, deeply wanted was to a) put Derek in a uniform and b) have Stiles make some comment about him being in handcuffs. FUCKING 6K+ WORDS LATER, I finally got to do it. OTL


End file.
